Be It Ever So Humble
by Cassandra Troy
Summary: Sarah Jane Smith has finally arrived home, but much has changed during her time away. (Follows the episode "Hand of Fear".)
1. Default Chapter

_Author's notes: This story is set following the events in "Hand of Fear" (written by Bob Baker & Dave Martin).   
The plot and its presentation is (hopefully) unique; as for the characters, universe, and related minutiae,   
the British Broadcasting Company owns (most of) that. I gratefully acknowledge their copyright._

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**_Be It Ever So Humble_**

**Chapter One**

It is a proven fact that wild animals that are brought in by "civilized" human beings are almost always ostracized upon re-entering their natural environment. Not a very comforting thought to the captured animal, but a truth none-the-less.

She supposed that was why she was being treated like a pariah by the other passengers on the autobus. It wasn't the fact that her clothes were nearly two years out of style. No, it was something else, something the other passengers could only sense. These were average people, who had never had an experience beyond their ken, and as such, they backed away from her.

"'illview Road," came the gruff voice of the driver.

She was thankful to be getting off the damned autobus, but some little sprite caused her to stay a few seconds more and pass a parting shot at these pedantic people. "Thank you very much, and I hope you all have a pleasant day."

She laughed as the door closed behind her. She didn't think she still had it in her.

Looking about her, she realized that nothing had changed in the two years she had been away. Then again, nothing had changed in South Croydon in over thirty-five years. Rows upon rows of semi-detached houses. All post-war, all built in a pre-war style reminiscent of what an American might design in imitation of an English style. It was typical of most London suburbs in that it blended middle class suburbia with middle class squalor. But, it was home.

She wondered if she could ever again get used to a Monday to Friday job, shopping for groceries, and fighting the crowds in Victoria Station. Those things could wait, however, all she wanted right now was a hot bath and a cuppa.

As she approached the gate to the walkway, she stopped. She had been away two years, and the lawn and hedges were manicured? Suppose the house had been sold? It was possible; there was, after all, a small mortgage. What would she do? Where could she go on £1.32?

Forcing herself to block out such thoughts, she opened the gate and headed for the door. So far, so good, she thought. No little old lady or yapping terrier had come out to chase her away.

Taking the latchkey from her pocket, she tried it in the lock. It turned. After two years, Sarah Jane Smith was home.

* * * * *

Exhausted was not the only word to describe how he felt. Another, would be defeated.

Give over ten years of your life to something, and in less than six months, they're ready to take it from you.

He had spent the last six months flying between the United Nations in New York and Geneva begging for additional support, as well as, commitments of men and equipment. It had all proved a waste of time.

Oh, there was a promise of token support from the United States, as long as he could guarantee the United Kingdom's support in the deployment of missiles in West Germany.

The Common Market countries had been far less demanding. All they were asking for was the elimination of certain trade restrictions, and a banding together during OPEC meetings.

He was still laughing over the Soviet ambassador's answer. On the floor of the General Assembly, their representative had emphatically called for the disbanding, or total re-organization of this "imperialistic tool". However, in a private meeting, the same representative had guaranteed that he would see what could be done, provided certain conditions were met. Those conditions being: five of the most recent Elton John records, twenty pairs of Levi's blue jeans, one kilo good- to pure-grade heroin, and a video tape copy of the "_Who Shot JR?_"episode of _Dallas. _All to be delivered to a certain address in West Berlin.

That address was still in his pocket. He wondered if he might be arrested by MI-5 upon landing at Heathrow. At this point, he didn't think he would care.

The other countries in the United Nations had decided that transmundane situations were Great Britain's problem; no matter the global repercussions. Now, he had to return to 10 Downing Street and explain that the UK was going to be bearing most of the cost of an United Nations' organization. Hell, he'd rather face an angry Yeti, than that she-lion. He was no diplomat, and didn't intend to start being one.

"Another drink, sir?" The stewardess had to repeat the phrase before he was even aware of her presence.

"No, thank you."

"Last chance before we land."

He shook his head.

She smiled, and removed his tray; casually dropping a piece of paper on his tray-table.

Waiting a discrete few moments, he picked up the paper. It was what he had thought. Name, address and telephone number. Not a bad looker, either.

He smiled inwardly. He might never master political intrigue, but Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart had not lost his touch with the ladies.

* * * * *

The whole situation was ludicrous.

For the last six months, all they had been doing were parades and general orderly work. He was going out of his mind with boredom.

Already, they had lost twenty good men, some to other services, most just resigned, though.

That damned ass who was running things could not seem to get it into his head that the men of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce were not like the men in the regular services. They couldn't be. With what they were forced to deal with, they couldn't act like a bloody peace-time army.

He thought back to UNIT's inception; he had been there at the beginning. Except for the Brigadier, himself, and a few others, most of UNIT's recruits had hoped to be joining an easy do-nothing operation. It didn't turn out that way.

As fast as her ranks swelled in the beginning, they dropped just as quickly.

UNIT was hard work. You had to be ready to go into action at any time; off duty did not exist.

UNIT was dangerous work. You were as likely to be killed by a giant mechanical man, as you were a yellow daffodil.

UNIT was top secret work. You were forced to sign the Official Secrets Act; forbidden to talk about what you did with your family, your wife, or your lover. They'd never believe you anyway. And, even if they did, could you burden them with the same worries you faced every day?

Seventy-five percent of recruits went right back into the Royal Army, and another two percent were discharged on psychological grounds -- they had nervous breakdowns.

From then on, each man who signed on was thoroughly checked. The Royal Army might do medical and psychological tests, but if they didn't pass muster with the Brigadier, they were rejects.

They were hand-picked men; chosen for their abilities. As such, they were a close-knit group. Every man loyal to the Brigadier, God, Queen and country, in that order. That was why they functioned so well in a crisis.

Well, Colonel Leslie Faraday had so far done an excellent job of destroying morale. Unless the Brig was intending -- God forbid -- to keep the man on as adjutant, they would be free of him in about two hours.

Having waited nearly six months, two hours more of the man was about all he could take. If the Brigadier was not back for good this time, Warrant Officer John Benton was also seriously considering deserting this sinking ship. He folded his request for transfer, and put it into his pocket. It would be ready, if need be.

* * * * *

He was beginning to wonder why in God's name he had requested a transfer to UNIT. Was it because he wanted some interesting work? No, it couldn't have been that. All he had been doing lately was the same thing he had been doing in the Royal Navy: handing out rubbers, penicillin injections, foot inspections, and of course, the damned paper work.

According to UNIT's acting commander, a medical officer was just that. The fact that he was RNs didn't sit too well with the old man, either.

Ever since the incident with the robot, MI-5 called on him to play undercover agent; that is, whenever they needed someone to play an undercover doctor. Colonel Faraday was only too happy to volunteer him.

If he was Matt Helm and making a cinema star's salary, those assignments might not have seemed so terrible. Instead, he was Lt. Harry Sullivan, pulling a UNIT salary, with most of his time being spent lurking around London's sewers looking for possible bacteriological time-bombs, while the rest of his time was spent bathing in carbolic.

Not once since Faraday was in command had UNIT done any official investigative work. Men were sent to answer calls about little green men, giant killer tomatoes, and noises in garages. Reports that were normal, logical or scientifically possible were completely ignored. UNIT was becoming a laughing stock among the other services. Their nickname was now "The Little Green Men People". No wonder men were requesting transfers.

He could only hope that when the Brigadier returned, UNIT would be turned around, becoming what it once was. Otherwise, he had a promising career in National Health. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's notes: This story is set following the events in "Hand of Fear" (written by Bob Baker & Dave Martin).   
The plot and its presentation is (hopefully) unique; as for the characters, universe, and related minutiae,   
the British Broadcasting Company owns (most of) that. I gratefully acknowledge their copyright._

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**_Be It Ever So Humble_**

**Chapter Two**

Sarah Jane couldn't believe it. The house was immaculate. It hadn't been this clean the day she left. Mail stacked and assorted, even her plants had been watered.

Aunt Lavinia? No, that didn't seem too likely. The old dear was sweet, but she had trouble remembering her own address, let alone checking up on her niece. It was always hard to believe she was a first class boffin -- the typical absent-minded professor.

Then who? Looking about the house, she spotted an envelope propped against a vase. UNIT stationery. Leave it to the Brigadier. She smiled as she read it.

_Miss Smith,_

_Not knowing when or where you are, or when you are even likely to return, I took the liberty of guaranteeing that you will have a home to which to return._

_I have arranged for your mortgage to be paid in full, as well as other outstanding debts._

_You will have no trouble with any government agencies regarding your "disappearance". You are listed on my official records as doing civilian research work for UNIT._

_Please call us as soon as you have the chance._

_We at UNIT look forward to your safe return._

_Warmest regards,_

_Brig. A G Lethbridge-Stewart_

"Thank you, Brigadier," she whispered.

* * * * *

"Come in."

"Mr. Benton."

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"I think you had better see this, sir." Sgt. Palmer handed him the _Daily Mirror._

The headline screamed out at him, "NUTON NUCLEAR NIGHTMARE!"

What the hell had been going on? Why hadn't UNIT been informed of this immediately. "Is this another of the Colonel's cock ups?"

Palmer wasn't sure how to answer the question. He didn't like Faraday; no one in UNIT did, but in general you didn't acknowledge it to your superior.

"No, sir. I think it has something to do with the Doctor and Miss Smith."

After that headline, the article itself was disappointing. A re-telling of the previous night's BBC report on the power blackout that occurred on the coast, and a sensationalised report of the terrorists involved -- one of Nuton's technicians, a strange man with a long scarf, a woman, and according to the Manager of Nuton, an alien female. According to Whitehall -- or, as Benton thought, according to what "real" information Whitehall released -- the MoD had suspicions on the culprits and an arrest would occur shortly.

"Has Lt. Sullivan seen this?"

"No, sir." Palmer squirmed under Benton's angry gaze. "Col. Faraday is with him."

Benton understood. Every man in UNIT was trying to avoid Faraday; he didn't blame them.

"Has communications received any further information on this?"

"I'm not sure. With all the cock ups lately, I hadn't even bothered checking, sir."

"All right, Sergeant. I'll look into it. Dismissed."

Sgt. Palmer saluted and left.

Benton had no idea what had happened at Nuton; he'd have the official report shortly. If the Doctor was involved, he was sure of one thing, the situation had been far more serious than the MoD surmised.

* * * * *

"Coming along with the medical reports, Sullivan?"

"As you can see, sir." He indicated a stack of papers.

Faraday nodded his assent. "Promised the Brigadier everything'd be running smoothly upon his return."

"Yes, sir." He tried to keep the boredom from his voice. He turned back to the reports. From behind, he could hear Faraday rummaging through papers, files, and what not. Couldn't the man take a hint and leave; nobody could be that dense.

"Lt. Sullivan!" Benton threw open the door, and from his expression, Harry knew that something was up.

Before Harry could say anything, however, Faraday spoke, "May I help you. Mr. Benton?" His voice told all. He did not like the idea that UNIT work was to be discussed with the Lieutenant and not him.

Benton froze. He had expected that Faraday would have already left, and what he had to tell the Lieutenant, he did not want to discuss with the Colonel.

"I repeat, Mr. Benton, may I help you?"

Harry intervened, "He's here to see me, Colonel."

"Was I speaking to you, Lieutenant?" His tone said that he was not expecting a reply.

Harry was about to say something that would have had him up for disciplinary action, but stopped when he saw the urgency on Benton's face.

"Whatever you need to say to the Lieutenant, you may say to me."

Benton felt foolish standing there before that pompous ass. Yes, he was here to see the Lieutenant on UNIT business; the files in his hands proved that. But, it was none of the Colonel's God damned business if he did. Unfortunately, he couldn't say that.

"Lt. Sullivan told me to stop by this morning, sir."

"Why, Mr. Benton?"

You bloody bastard, thought Benton. "I asked if I might see him, sir."

"Is that true, Sullivan?"

The man was a fool if he was expecting him to call Benton a liar. However, if there was one thing that Faraday hated more than the Royal Navy, it was non-commissioned officers. "Yes, it's true, sir."

"Why did you ask to see Sullivan?"

This was getting absurd. The man would not be satisfied with any answer he gave. The more time he wasted with this fool, the angrier he became.

"I-I needed to see Lt. Sullivan, sir." The words were coming out of his mouth without any thought given them. "I-I have the clap, sir."

Col. Faraday could say nothing. After all his burning questions, his answer turned out to be a case of the clap?

It was all Harry could do to keep a straight face, but he had to play this through in order to get rid of Faraday. "Naturally, sir, I wanted to run some tests."

Faraday's face burned crimson, as he replied, "Carry on, Sullivan."

As the door closed behind him, Harry and Benton caught fragments of the Colonel's mumblings. "Unclean . . . should've used the rubber . . . "

It took Harry several minutes to compose himself enough to speak.

"What prompted you to say that?"

"It just came out, sir."

"Well, it got rid of the old fool." Tears were still rolling down his cheeks. "What was it you needed to see me about?"

Benton handed the Lieutenant the _Daily Mirror. _"Page three has the relevant article."

Harry read it. "The Doctor and Sarah are back?"

"I'm not sure," began Benton, "but, I think you had better read this."

It was a message from communications. The Ministry had issued a warrant for the Doctor's and Sarah's arrest.

"Are they out of their minds?"

"Look who's signed the order, sir."

"Horatio Chinn?" The name meant nothing to Harry.

"You weren't attached to UNIT, sir," said Benton, remembering that he was the Lieutenant's senior in the organization. "He's a bloody fool who's had it in for UNIT since the Brigadier checked his ambition during the crisis with the Axons."

Harry at least knew the incident. His first priority on joining UNIT had been to review all previous operations.

"And, of course, Nuton is a sore point with the man?"

Benton nodded.

"Is there any confirmation that they're still on Earth?"

"Miss Smith may be." Benton pulled a sheet from his folder. "There's a report from the Surbiton police about a police call box appearing, a young woman vaguely fitting Miss Smith's description got out, and then the police box vanished. The police didn't bother to check it; they only logged it in."

"I wouldn't have even done that," mumbled Harry. "Chinn doesn't know what the Doctor is, does he?"

"Only that he's UNIT's unpaid scientific advisor. The Brigadier never did supply intelligence with any sort of complete file on the Doctor."

"So, it's safe to assume that Chinn thinks they're earthbound," Harry continued, "which means we'll soon be under siege by the authorities looking for the Doctor and Sarah."

"And the Colonel will be answering their questions." Benton cracked a sly smile at the thought.

It was a joke that Lt. Sullivan shared for only a moment. "Why did the Doctor leave Sarah in Surbiton?"

"Trying to drop her off home, and missed." Benton shrugged. "It's been known to happen."

Harry didn't appreciate Benton's little joke. He knew first hand the "slight malfunctions" to which the TARDIS was prone. "What time was the warrant issued?"

"About ten o'clock." He had no idea where the Lieutenant's questions were leading.

"It's almost noon now." He glanced at his watch. "Sarah should be home by now, or nearly there."

"Agreed, sir."

"Sarah's not listed on any UNIT files, is she?"

"She's not sanctioned by the UN, if that's what you mean. She's down on the Doctor's files as his assistant; that's the one the Brig filed with Inland Revenue last year."

"Nothing that the Ministry or Chinn would have immediate access to, though?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"You still don't understand, Benton?"

He shook his head.

"UNIT should have been informed the moment the crisis occurred at Nuton, we weren't. Someone in the Ministry -- Chinn, most probably -- is purposely keeping us ignorant; costing us precious time in searching for information we should already have.

"Even with that ass in charge, Chinn would be a fool to think he'd be able to march in and arrest the Doctor and Sarah. In order to make any move against UNIT, he'd first have to petition the UN in Geneva or New York. Why bother? He could arrest Sarah, and still do a good job of breaking UNIT, if he can get to her before she reaches us."

Knowing Chinn's utter hatred of UNIT, it made perfect sense. Bring UNIT and the Brig up on charges of helping and harbouring terrorists. Besides, the government would be more than willing to sacrifice some scapegoats considering the current tide of public opinion on anything nuclear.

"It doesn't give us much time to get Sarah back here."

"I think we may have more time than you think, sir. If I know Chinn, he'll probably be using a hand-picked group on this."

Harry was busily trying to form a plan of action. What he had wasn't much of one, but on two minutes notice, he hoped it would suffice.

"Benton, I want you to meet the Brigadier at Heathrow; he should be arriving shortly."

Benton grimaced at that, but he knew the Lieutenant was right. He was, after all, well versed in the care and feeding of irate Brigadier Generals.

"I'm going to try to reach South Croydon before Chinn's men do."

"Then, I assume we'll be going AWOL, sir?"

"You won't, anyway. You'll be meeting your superior officer as ordered. I'll worry about what Col. Faraday says when the Brigadier returns."

* * * * *

Glancing around the crowded baggage-claim area, he could only thank God that he had UN clearance on his luggage and passport. The time that would save would give him the chance to go home, have a leisurely glass of port and a hot bath, as well as, if traffic was light, a three-hour nap.

He had already planned his evening with the stewardess. Dinner at a nouvelle cuisine restaurant in Chelsea, dancing in Soho, and finishing the evening with a night-cap at his flat. He smiled at the possibilities.

Picking up his valise, he headed toward the customs desk.

* * * * *

It helped to have friends in MI-5; it wasn't comforting, but it helped.

If he and Benton hadn't been delayed by Faraday, he might have checked with intelligence sooner. As it stood, he might already be too late.

Communications was right about the arrest warrant, but his interpretation had been wrong. Chinn wasn't about to start a siege on UNIT headquarters -- too many questions would have to be answered. No, he was sending his men to South Croydon, thereby effectively bypassing UNIT's quasi-diplomatic status, and arresting Sarah on English soil.

He couldn't even call to warn her. The Brigadier had had her phone disconnected several months back.

Harry pulled his Austin to a halt a half-block from Sarah's house. There didn't appear to be any sign of police or Ministry agents about. They might not have arrived yet, but more than likely, they were already about -- hidden -- waiting to see who else might be involved in this "conspiracy".

Well, he was prepared for that situation, anyway. In his briefcase, he had put a lot of official documents -- all signed by the Brigadier, aka Sgt. Bell. None of them were worth the paper they were printed on, but by the time anyone had a chance to review them, he'd have Sarah back at UNIT HQ. He hoped he wouldn't have to use them; he didn't fancy ending his military career with a court martial.

* * * * *

Benton knew the Lieutenant was right. He didn't have to like his orders, though.

Meeting the Brigadier at Heathrow was bad enough; having to explain what had happened during his absence was far worse. The Brig would chop his head off at the entrails.

Oh well, it wouldn't be so bad being a Sergeant Major again.

* * * * *

"Harry!" Her exclamation was almost simultaneous with her opening the door.

"Welcome home, old thing!" His hug was heartfelt, but he almost threw her into the hall trying to get the door shut.

Sarah had never been thrilled by Harry's calling her "old thing", but that was Harry.

"What are you doing here? How did you know I was home?"

"It's a long story." He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. "Do you have anything on under that robe?"

She blushed. Harry had caught her just before getting into the tub. "Just me."

"Get dressed. We've got to get you out of her." His manner was almost militaristic.

"Why? What's going on?"

"You made the front page of the _Daily Mirror, _and MI-5 has issued an arrest warrant for you and the Doctor."

"What!" She was almost laughing. "This is ridiculous. The Doctor is a member of UNIT -- "

Harry interrupted, "We don't have time to discuss it now. Suffice to say that what happened at Nuton convinced the Ministry that you and the Doctor are political terrorists."

"Terrorists! For God's sake, if the Doctor hadn't stopped Eldrad -- " She paused, the severity in Harry's manner was convincing her of the situation more than any words.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"Give me ten minutes to change."

"Not much choice, old thing." He laughed.

She joined in his laughter; it felt good. No matter what happened, things would somehow always stay the same. "I'll be right down."

Harry watched her form as she ran up the stairs. The robe clung tightly, accenting all of Sarah's curves.

Had this been any other time, he thought whimsically. 


End file.
